a year of hunger
by SlytherinFromTheSeam
Summary: We're a million miles from home…a million miles from anyone that we know. Well, 1,018 miles to be exact with almost nothing.


Writer: SlytherinFromtheSeam

Prompt: Hunger

Rating: T

Trigger Warning(s): True life!

Summary: We're a million miles from home…a million miles from anyone that we know. Well, 1,018 miles to be exact with almost nothing.

We brought very few things with us: a mattress, a small television, a box of movies, Prim's crib from when she was a baby, one suitcase of clothes for both us, a few kitchen utensils and an old futon. When Willow was a couple of months old, I loaded up my jeep and left Texas in the middle of the night. With $2000 in cash and pay-as-you-go phone, we drove to our new home.

Little did I know, that the drive would destroy the carburetor on my jeep and cause me to go into a full panic once we got here. My car was making a terrible knocking sound and would die at stop signs. I opened up the phone book that was left on our stairs before we moved in and called the first repair shop on the list. Thankfully the shop took me back home while they looked over the car. I cried two hours later as they told me the problem and how much it would cost to fix it. I thanked them and let them know I'd be in soon to pick it.

I wasn't too far from campus; I could walk if need be. Grocery shopping would cause a bit of an issue, but I could get a bike. The problem? The two feet of snow outside and 5 more months of it to come. I cried again when they called back to tell me that a local church has covered the cost to fix it and they'd bring it back when it was done. I made a mental note to repay them someday. Who knows when, but eventually.

We're a million miles from home…a million miles from anyone that we know. Well, 1,018 miles to be exact with almost nothing. I found a small apartment close to campus. I chose this place for the schools here, they have one of the best courses available. At 25, I'm the oldest one in my class and having a young daughter makes me even more alienated. Thankfully, being a college student has qualified me for a small pension from the state that covers the bills and having Willow and such a small income allows us a bit of extra money for food.

The sweet old lady that lives in our 4-plex, named Mags, watches Willow while I'm in class. I chose to take night classes since they are targeted for the 'older' students because the normal college aged kids fill up the morning slots. We've settled in, but what's left of my savings are dwindling quickly. I've stopped breast feeding because, well, I just wasn't very good at it. Who knew that it was actually something that you have to work at. Willow is eating more and more. The coupons that we get from the WIC office only offers a couple cans of formula along with some fruit, peanut butter and cereal for her. Extra formula and diapers eat up most of our grocery money. Most nights I eat peanut butter sandwiches or nothing at all. Also, I've taken to practically begging for formula and diaper samples from the local pediatrician office. I think they just feel sorry for me.

I only call home on the weekends, they have specials with discounted minutes on Saturday nights after 5pm. Hazelle, Gale's mom, loads my phone with minutes when she can because she knows her son screwed us over. All he said was 'he wasn't ready'. Does he think I was? Does he think this was the life I imagined? Well, fuck him. I'm here doing what I can to make things better for us. For she and I. Not him. Never him again.

There is a local food pantry, but I feel guilty taking from those that might need it more than me. I did hear from a couple of kids in my class that there is a plasma bank that you can to twice a week for an extra $100. They use theirs for beer money, I use mine for milk and diapers. Every other week they let me come in for an extra visit and they give me $30 off the books.

The bigger Willow gets, the faster that money goes. She's almost grown out of everything I brought here with us. There is a resale shop that has sales once a month to reduce inventory, $.50 per item. Mostly it's the things that can't sell because they have stains or small tears in them. They even offer me a store credit for the things of hers that no longer fit when I bring back in to them.

I've lost 10 pounds since we moved here, I was always thin but it's becoming even more obvious. I need to at least maintain my weight because I can't afford to buy anything smaller and we have a dress code at school. I've made a couple of friends in my class; Finnick- who is dating Annie, a sweet girl that he met here in town and a nice kid from somewhere on the east coast, Cato. Finn's from Texas and if there is anything that Texas people like, it's other people from Texas. Cato is a good kid; he's basically there wasting his parent's money. Finnick is in the same program at school that I am, he's one of the only other 'older' people there. I think we might even be older than the instructor. They have us over for dinner every weekend, it's the only night that I ever go to bed not aching with hunger.

By the end of the first semester, all of our extra money is gone. I make even more cuts to try and stretch the money that we get monthly. I stop using the heater, we double up on the blankets and wear extra clothes. I re-wear my outfits several times and wash clothes once a week, overloading the washer and dryer to fit as much as I can. I move Willow to baby food because we get more and it's cheaper than formula.

We get a new neighbor that moves into the 4-plex beside ours. I sit outside and watch as a moving truck pulls up and unloads boxes, a bed, a desk and couches. Then he pulls up in his new, fancy car. He gets out, wearing an outfit that probably costs as much as I get per month. His beautiful blonde curls catch a few of the snow flakes that float through the wind before the snow starts to come down in heavy flurries. He looks around and scans the area as he talks loudly on his huge cellphone.

His popped collar and sun bleached hair screams west coast, it's confirmed by the California license plate on his new car. When I get up to check on Willow, I see him watch as I go inside. All I can hope from this kid is that he keeps his expensive beer cans out of my yard and he doesn't play his music too loud when the baby is sleeping.

A couple months later, the snow starts to slow down and dirty mounds of ice and snow start to melt, the grass turns green and you can actually see the mountains close by. From the side of our house, on clear days you can see the sunset perfectly. I'm folding laundry as Willow pulls herself across the awful brown carpet that spans the whole apartment. She's doubled in size and sits on her own. Now, she eats bananas, yogurt and bits of vegetables along with her food and cereal. Now, I can see the bottoms of my ribcage after I get out of the shower. A hard knock on the door surprises me. Sometimes Mags will come by when she needs help shoveling snow, but no one visits other than her.

It's the blonde from next door, he smells like smoke and pecan wood. He smells like summers at home, by the lake in Texas. When all of my friends would gather on the weekends to cook out on barbeque pits and drink beer. I miss that smell.

His name is Peeta. Up close, he's very handsome and looks somewhat normal in a basic t-shirt and jeans and his dirty curls, unruly from the handful of times that he's run his hands through them at my door. He invites me over for dinner, because he claims he cooked too much. His megawatt smile falters when I glance back to look at Willow pulling her way towards the door. When she makes her way to me, I scoop her up. Sensing that he was uncomfortable, I thanked him for the invite but told him that we had laundry and nap time coming up. I could have cried as I closed the door because I could smell the meat cooking that wafted towards my tiny home with an empty refrigerator.

I was even more shocked when he came back an hour later, just after I laid my daughter down for a nap, with two beers and foil covered tupperware bowls. I apologize for my lack of décor, but offered him a place at my garage-sale table with two chairs. He watched as I devoured my whole plate of brisket and potatoes and he pretended not to notice the lack of food as he placed the second plate into the refrigerator.

Two nights later when he claimed that the Chinese place in town 'messed up' his order and delivered twice the amount of food, I let him in again. This time, Willow sat with us on the floor while he fed her pieces of chicken and lo mein noodles. He made her squeal with delight as he tickled her full belly and made my heart skip a beat when she fell asleep in his arms.

A month later and after almost daily visits from Peeta, I can no longer see my ribs poking through my skin. My hunger is still there, but it's changed. My stomach doesn't ache when I go to bed and I have food when wake up. But now, when it's time for bed, it's him that I crave. He's the thing that I think of instead of the meals that I didn't have. Every night, he stays and even offers to tuck her into her crib. My want and my hunger builds for him as he pulls me into his side on my threadbare futon.

My second semester is over; Willow is a year old. He surprises her with a tiny cake that he made and a full dinner of her favorites. She makes a mess of her dinner and cake, then we clean up together after she's tucked into his bed. That night, while I'm washing the dishes in his apartment, I eat up his kisses and the hunger in my stomach builds for him.

At the end of the summer, we're closer than ever. He's woven his way into our kitchen and our hearts. My hunger for more than just his kisses is still building. I go to bed every night and try to fill the void with my own fingers.

When we've been there a year, he invites us to move in with him. The first night in our new home, he makes us the meal that he won our hearts with. She eats with her fingers, the brisket and mashed potatoes that he first made for us. Once she's in bed, I finally give in to my craving, my hunger for him.

A year later, with our courses completed, our girl walks around the house and loves to help in the kitchen. He feeds me my daily cravings as I kick my feet up and rest my hands on my giant, rounded belly. Soon, our son will be here.

I no longer have to give plasma; I no longer wish that I could go to the food pantry. I still haven't been able to pay back the church that helped me all those months ago. Someday, I'll be able to and I still send them cards thanking them for what they did. I do not go to bed with my stomach aching and every night my hunger for Peeta is filled. Willow and I are happy; we won't be hungry again. Peeta has filled the holes in our life and soon Rye will make us complete.


End file.
